


last words of a shooting star

by mokketake



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Martin suffers, Mutual Pining, One Sided Love, Pining, Star Tears, Star Tears AU, at least at first, hoshinamidabyou, i promise it's not all just sad we'll get there, jon is very deeply in denial, the magnus archives is a workplace romcom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:21:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26064919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokketake/pseuds/mokketake
Summary: Martin has never been one to cry often, especially not at insignificant things.But when a new head archivist is appointed at the Magnus Institute, and Martin is forced to leave his familiar, calm position in the library... His emotions start to get the best of him.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	last words of a shooting star

It wasn’t a surprise to Martin when the tears began to fall, although the obnoxious twinkling noise that had woken him up was bound to get annoying fairly quickly. He scrubbed his eyes of the star-shaped liquid, blinking out the sting, and when his eyes were dry enough, he grabbed his glasses, turned on the lamp by his bed, and, at last, cast a quick glance to the palms of his hands. 

They were reddened, slightly swollen--not typical symptoms of a good midnight cry as far as Martin recognized, and it was then he realized, too, that his cheeks stung similarly. 

This week, particularly, had been a long one at the Archives, and now… Whatever this was? He couldn’t recall what it was that he had dreamt of, perhaps a nightmare regarding the excessive bluffing and glorification of his met stipulations? No; that couldn’t be. When Martin Blackwood had nightmares, he woke up sweating, his heart pounding… And besides, he hadn’t had any in nearly a year, since going on antidepressants. So he ruled that out. It couldn’t have been a particularly _happy_ dream, either, because he sure as hell didn’t feel _good_ , so that could easily be ruled out as well. 

Eventually, between thoughts, Martin managed to lull himself back to sleep with a cup of chamomile tea and the ambience of the November rain, with his window cracked slightly open. But as he fell asleep, he couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. And he couldn’t help but feel like he should be searching for it--if only he knew where to start.

\--

Martin woke up before his alarm by only five minutes. That was okay, of course, alarms still startled him--which was kind of the point, but also didn’t make for a very good start to the day. So he was grateful that, even if out of anxiety, his body had managed to program itself to do this in avoidance of loud, sudden noises.

He sat up, making sure to turn off the alarm, so that it wouldn’t surprise him in the three minutes that were left for him to forget about it, as he was still quite groggy, and after much thinking and hmm-ing and haa-ing about this worthiness of today’s endeavors, he got slowly out of bed, dressed himself just fine enough, and made his way to the kitchen of his small flat to take his pills. The routine was so normal, so thoughtless and mundane that if he began to _actually_ think about it, and think about his surroundings, he tended to feel too big for his shelter. Which wasn’t at all pleasant. 

He locked behind him when he left, wriggling the doorknob one, two, three times to make sure the flat was adequately locked. He wasn’t willing to take any risks. 

Monday was an alright day for Martin. Or at least, it used to be. The days tended to blend together a lot, or again, they used to. Ever since the new Head Archivist had assumed his role, things were… Different, in Martin’s eyes.

Jonathan Sims and Timothy Stoker (Jon and Tim, they had insisted) were the two newest additions to the Archival Staff of the Magnus Institute, joining himself, Sasha James, a friendly woman, although a bit quiet, and Elias Bouchard, who oversaw the entire operation, and had appointed Jon as the new Archivist.

It almost felt like a personal attack, Jon’s recruitment, though it would be a while until Martin truly understood why. Jon was mean to him, sure, but Martin could take it. He had before, and he would again, he knew. There was just… Something about the _way_ Jon was mean to him, the sad dullness behind his angry brown eyes, how his skin, pockmarked with acne scars that hadn’t quite faded but somehow fit his angles and creases just as ethereally as freckles, wrinkled by his brow, how his hair, mostly neat, flew out near his ears and onto his forehead and where it was growing out into a slight mullet, and how it was greying, but looked silver in the dusty sunlight, and…

He smelled like cigarettes, sometimes. Very faintly. Martin could smell the vaguest hints of tobacco when he set down the routinely mug of ginger tea (two sugar, no milk) on Jon’s hardwood desk every day at twelve thirty-seven in the afternoon, like clockwork.

He hoped the smell wouldn’t stick to him.

“Do I smell like tobacco, Sasha?” He had asked one day last week, his curiosity getting the best of him.

“No,” Sasha had replied plaintively, setting down her folder on the break room counter. “Been spending time with the new Head Archivist?” She nudged Martin playfully with her elbow.

Martin found himself blushing. “What--no--it’s--no!” He sighed. _Good job, Mr. Blackwood, very convincing,_ he chastised himself. “No, I’m pretty sure he hates me.” His fingers had been stinging from the heat of his mug, he realized, as he found himself able to recall the exchange in full clarity.

“I’m pretty sure he hates _all_ of us,” Sasha smiled again, but this time it was homely; reassuring. “Don’t take it personal.” She looked like she knew something, but Sasha James knew a great many things, Martin had come to discover. 

“Mhm,” he nodded, sipping his still too-hot tea. “Well, I suppose I’ll be seeing you,” he said, making his way to the door. 

“Be safe!” Sasha called over her shoulder, mixing a cup of milky tea for herself. 

\--

Today, the Archives were cold. This wasn’t entirely unexpected for late November, in fact, it was only right that the sky should be perpetually a dull grey, and that the wind should feel like it could slice slits down your face like a cheese grater, but the Magnus Institute was technically under some obligation to be temperature-controlled.

Or so, at least, Martin assumed. It just made sense that it would be better for Artifact Storage and Painting Restoration, and even for the Archives themselves, so full of dust and rapidly dissipating parchment.

So it was quite a surprise, in the worst possible way, for Martin, still fully bundled in winter attire, to quickly make his way straight to the break room (for a cup of tea, of course), and be faced with none other than Jonathan Sims himself.

“Martin.” An acknowledgement was as much of a greeting as Jon would allow Martin, the pit in whose stomach was growing with a hunger to hear more of Jon’s voice--but Martin just thought it was his lateness to getting to what he was used to doing at this very time.

“Jon. Good morning,” Martin was not going to let himself be impolite. Not to Jon. Even if Jon disliked him--he wasn’t going to reciprocate that hatred. He didn’t want a friend, but he couldn’t afford another enemy.

And that was that. And that was enough. For the both of them. 

It wouldn’t be until twelve fifteen in the afternoon, when Martin was due to make more tea for himself and for Jon, that he would allow himself to acknowledge the twinkling noise that had been following him around for the last few hours, and the stinging in his eyes that was getting to be too much to bear, despite the fact that he hadn’t been doing much staring at his monitor today.

Rushing to the bathroom, Martin wiped his eyes, narrowly avoiding running directly into Elias, who somehow always cropped up at the wrong time in the wrong place. When his vision cleared a little bit, Martin looked in the mirror, and almost began crying again.

His reddened cheeks, the damp paws of his sweater, the ends of his hair that just brushed his eyebrows--they were all covered in stars of varying sizes, the sharp ends of which scratched at the skin of his face and pierced through his clothes. Had they always been there? Had he cried them out? Had he _always_ been able to cry stars?

Right now, though, it was twelve twenty-five, and Martin had still not even begun to make himself or Jon any lunch tea. Not wanting to risk getting scolded, or worse, declined entirely by Jon, he quickly picked as many stars out of the wool of his sweater as he could, wiped down his face, and made his way in rapid, long strides to the break room.

**Author's Note:**

> hi if you're here from my cosplay of this au, thanks for sticking around!  
> if you just happened upon this, i hope you enjoy it, this au is one of my absolute favorites.  
> updates might take a bit right now because i am a tad busy and school's about to start...


End file.
